


The Devereaux Estate

by krysnel_nicavis



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Skeleton Key (2005)
Genre: M/M, Psychological Horror, Romance, Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-04
Updated: 2008-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krysnel_nicavis/pseuds/krysnel_nicavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg’s fixation about the history of Sin City seems to have put him in over his head, now Nick is being pulled under as well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devereaux Estate

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not very good at writing horror-type stuff, but I thought I’d try this and see how it turned out.

Supervisor Gil Grissom couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something amiss about the youngest member of the Las Vegas CSI Nightshift of late. He wasn’t sure when the change in the younger man had started, but he’d noticed it around the time that Sara Sidle, his fiancée, had returned to Las Vegas. Before one shift he sat in his office with his two friends and co-workers: Catherine Willows, Lead CSI and co-supervisor, and Jim Brass, Homicide Detective. He shared his observations with the two.

“I noticed it before that,” Catherine admitted. “By a few weeks, at least.”

“Yeah, Sanders seems to have been a bit off for a while now,” Brass agreed. “Something tells me it’s got to do with his new hobby.”

“You mean his recent interest in everything historic concerning Las Vegas?” Grissom asked.

“Yeah. I hear he’s even taken to touring some of the older houses in Vegas. Making connections with a lot of people who can remember some of the ‘good ol’ days’,” Brass said.

“Touring old houses?” Catherine asked interestedly. “Do you happen to know which houses he’s been to already?”

“I’d have to look into it to come up with definite list, but I do know he’s been to the old Devereaux Estate.”

“The Devereaux Estate?” Grissom asked with a frown.

“What’s wrong with the Devereaux Estate?” Catherine asked unsure.

“Nothing,” Grissom said. “Unless you believe the rumours.”

“Unless you believe what rumours?” asked the tall green-eyed African-American man known as Warrick Brown as he and two others – Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle – entered the office.

“Ever hear of the Devereaux Estate?” Brass asked the three younger CSI’s.

“I’ve heard Greg mention it a bunch of times,” Nick, Greg’s boyfriend, said nodding.

“Yeah, I heard about it. It’s suppose to be cursed or something,” Warrick said. Nick and Sara looked confused.

“Cursed?” Sara asked unbelievingly.

“What is the Devereaux Estate?” Nick asked as the three younger CSI’s took seats around the office.

“It’s an old mansion that used to belong to a married couple by the names Violet and Ben Devereaux,” Grissom began. “But the house was left to Mr. Devereaux’s caregiver Caroline who lives there still with her husband Luke Marshall. There are stories about the house that date back to before they bought the house from a family, I can’t remember their last name.” Catherine got a look of comprehension on her face.

“I remember this story,” she said. “My mother once told it to me when I was a teenager.”

“As the stories go,” Brass continued. “This family had two servants who lived in a room in the attic who practiced an old magic called Hoodoo.” No one noticed the dark look that crossed Nick’s features at the word.

“Don’t you mean Voodoo?” Sara asked.

“No, Hoodoo is different,” Warrick spoke up. “I remember my Grams use to talk about it. It’s an old African-American magic that supposedly only works if you truly believe in it.”

“Anyway,” Brass said. “One night the family held a party. When the party ended, some guests wanted to say goodbye to the two children. No one knew where they were so the parents and guests searched the house, every single room, but they were no where.”

“Then someone heard something,” Grissom explained. “Music and chanting, coming from the attic. They found the children being taught this Hoodoo magic and lynched the two servants, setting them on fire as well.”

“The children’s father was a wealthy banker, wasn’t he?” Catherine asked. “But his business went under and one night, some time after, he shot and killed his wife before turning the gun on himself.”

“That doesn’t explain why it’s cursed,” Sara said.

“Well, the thing is that every time the house changes hands, the previous owners seem to fall ill,” Grissom explained.

“Fall ill?”

“They tend to have strokes,” Brass clarified. Nick looked up sharply.

“Caroline became Ben Devereaux’s nurse sometime after Mr. Devereaux had a stroke,” Grissom explained. “Not long after Caroline arrived Violet Devereaux also had a stroke and fell down a flight of stairs.”

“Caroline’s husband, wasn’t he the Devereaux’s lawyer?” Catherine asked.

“Yeah,” Warrick nodded. “They married not long after the Devereauxs died, leaving Caroline the house.”

\- - -

Nick was tense all shift. It shook him, the story that the other CSI’s told. It all sounded too familiar. He thought about Greg. Some weeks back the younger CSI had become slightly jumpy and paranoid. But a few days ago he’d completely changed. It was like he wasn’t the same person. It was so noticeable that yesterday Grissom had given Greg the week off. Nick knew it had something to do with Greg going to that house. Though it could be argued that Greg’s demeanour changing may have been due to the fact that Mrs. Marshall had recently had a stroke; Greg had, after all, become close to the old couple that lived there. But the story had sent a slight chill up his spine that he couldn’t explain.

“Nick, are you alright?” Sara asked as she collected some trace evidence from the DB while he photographed the scene. He looked up at her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nick lied, but Sara could see the truth in his eyes.

“You don’t really believe that stuff they told us, do you?” She asked with a grin.

“What? No,” Nick said and chuckled nervously as he turned back to his camera.

“Magic isn’t real. We’re scientists, Nick. We _know_ it isn’t real.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed quietly. Honestly, he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t help his slowly building paranoia. He remembered all the stories Greg had come home telling him. He remembered Greg talking a little about the servants who were killed, but nothing about the Hoodoo magic Brass, Grissom, and even Warrick talked about. At least Greg hadn’t talked about it in relation to the original inhabitants. But he remembered also how Greg had been up until a few days ago. He remembered how the younger man found in difficult to sleep and was often found muttering things under his breath.

\- - -

“Hon? I’m home,” Nick called as he dragged his feet through the door of the apartment he shared with his lover, having just pulled a double shift it was now dark again. He received no answer. “Greggo?” He searched through the apartment, not finding the younger CSI anywhere. He spied a note attached to the fridge with a magnet. After reading it, he swallowed hard. Greg was at that place and had just asked him to meet him there. Apparently Mr. Marshall wanted to meet him. He tried to calm his nerves before grabbing his car keys and heading out the door. He missed the phone ringing and the answering machine picking up.

“ _Hey Nick, it’s Warrick. Sara told me about you being freaked out over that little story Griss and Brass told us. I figured you’d want to talk about it._ _I also heard Greg has taken to visiting the old Devereaux Estate, and I think it might be wise to stay away from there for a little while. I’m most likely just paranoid, I mean I don’t actually believe in it either, but I try to keep an open mind. Call me when you get this, and say ‘Hi’ to Greg for me. Talk to you guys later.”_

\- - -

“Good evening, Mr. Stokes,” the old man greeted him with a Southern accent as Greg let him into the very large, and slightly creepy, house. A storm was brewing outside and that didn’t help the uneasy feeling in Nick’s gut. “I’m Luke Marshall.” The old man extended his had, which Nick shook. “I’ve been wanting to meet the man who takes such wonderful care of young Gregory here. He’s a good man, very helpful with me and my dear wife.” The three of them went into the large living room and sat down on the old style couches.

“Are you alright, Nicky?” Greg asked. “You seem tense.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Long shift, I just finished a double.” Greg nodded and Nick looked nervously around. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous, it wasn’t like anything was going to happen. He didn’t believe the story he’d heard the previous evening, after all. Then again, he couldn’t help but think of the strange stories he’d heard as a teenager back in Texas. They were somewhat similar in nature…

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Stokes?” Mr. Marshall asked hospitably.

“Uh, no that’s quite alright,” Nick grinned politely. He noticed some old photos on the mantle. “May I ask who the photos are of?”

“Ah, yes. They are actually the previous owners of this fine house,” Mr. Marshall answered with a smile. “They came with the house, see, and my dear wife didn’t feel it fitting to do away with them. She felt it disrespectful to the memory of the house.” Nick nodded.

“This is such a lovely home,” Greg said fondly. “I do wish Nick would take a tour, it’s absolutely amazing.” Nick glanced at Greg through the corner of his eyes.

“I think that’s a grand idea,” Mr. Marshall smiled widely. “Gregory, why don’t you take this and show him around for me, I must see to Caroline.” He held up a large old fashioned key. Nick looked at it interestedly which Mr. Marshall noticed. “There are about thirty rooms in this house, Mr. Stokes,” he explained. “And in the olden days each room was given a separate key. The Masters of the house, however, were given these,” he gestured to the key in his hand. “Skeleton keys. I trust you know what they are for?”

“Yes sir,” Nick nodded. “They’re fashioned to open every lock in a home or building. Sometimes called a Master Key.”

“Rightly so,” Mr. Marshall nodded and handed the key to Greg.

“Follow me, Nicky,” Greg smiled and lead Nick out of the room. Nick’s heart was pounding as Greg led him deeper into the house, closer to the attic. “There are no mirrors at all around the house,” Greg explained. “I asked the Marshalls about that once. You remember the story I told you of how the servants of the original inhabitants were killed?” Nick nodded. “They said you can see their spirits in the mirrors.” When they reached the attic, Greg stopped at a door. There was a yellowish light peeking through the cracks of the door. “I’ve never been in that room before. I’ve stood outside it plenty of times but I’ve never been inside.”

“Why not?”

“There’s something strange about it,” he said. “Something dark. But there’s never been a light on in it before now.”

“Maybe we should head back down,” Nick suggested.

“Let’s open it,” Greg said with a glint in his eyes.

“What? Why?” Nick became nervous.

“C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?” Greg grinned.

“I don’t think-”

“What could possibly happen, Nick?” Nick refused to answer that and Greg turned back to the door. Nick’s nerves were on end as he wanted to grab Greg and run from this house. Greg unlocked the door and Nick could feel the air shifting, bearing down on him.

“Greg, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” But Greg just opened the door and walked in. Nick was at a stand still. Should he enter the room, or turn around and leave the house? He desperately wanted to leave the house but he didn’t want to leave Greg here. He took a deep breath and entered the room. There was a circle of lit candles in the room surrounded by a circle of mirrors. “What is this?” Nick asked Greg. He looked to find Greg inspecting an open book. The book was very old.

“Take a look at this,” Greg said, not taking his eyes off the aged pages. Nick walked up beside him and gazed at the page. It was loose and looked as though it had been folded at one time. On the top was written the words _‘Chalk, Sulphur, Blood, Hair’_ above a diagram of a circle depicting how to use the four items. It was labelled the _‘Conjuration of Supreme Protection’_. There was a loud thunder clap and Nick almost jumped out of his skin. “Hmm, seems like this might very well come in handy tonight,” Greg said, his eyes dancing. “Maybe we should draw it.”

“Why?” Nick asked quickly, cursing his fast building paranoia.

“You’re right, it’s not like it would even work,” Greg scoffed. “So why don’t we try it?”

“Look, maybe we should just go back home,” Nick choked out.

“What’s wrong Nicky? Are you afraid of something?” Greg asked concerned as he tilted his head to the side and frowned.

“Afraid?” Nick almost squeaked. “Why would I be afraid?” Greg picked up the lose page and held it out to Nick.

“Then why don’t you try it?” Nick stared at the page as though it might turn into some sort of creature and attack him. But it remained a page and stayed harmlessly in Greg’s grasp. Nick took a deep breath, telling himself that he was being silly, and took the page.

“Okay, fine,” Nick said and swallowed hard. “What do I have to do?” Greg’s eyes lit up. He glanced around the room and produced a black candle, a thick piece of white chalk, a small knife, a small pair of sewing scissors, and a jar of what looked like sulphur. He handed the items to Nick before exploring the room more. Nick lit the candle with one of the ones surrounding him and set it aside. He took the chalk and drew around himself two large circles and the two eyes and line that were inside the smaller circle. “What now?” he asked looking at Greg.

“I think you dump the sulphur in the border made by the two circles,” he instructed over his shoulder. With a shaky hand he did so. “You need to clip some hair and sprinkle it over the sulphur.”

“How do you know this?” Nick asked, looking at Greg strangely.

“It says so in that diagram,” Greg shrugged and continued browsing. Nick took a useless calming breath and complied, all the time wondering why in the hell he was even here. “Now make a small cut on your palm and press it to the border on at least four places.” He did so and watched as Greg smiled and pulled out an old record from the box he was looking through. “Do you know what this is, Nicky?” Greg asked in a strange tone. He held up the record for Nick to read the label on the cover.

“Conjure of Sacrifice,” Nick read out loud.

“Yes, and do you know, Nicky, what it does?” Greg asked as he placed the record in a record player and set the needle in the right spot. Nick shook his head, his nerves on end at the strange tone in Greg’s voice and glint in Greg’s eyes. The sounds emitted from the record shook what was left of his resolve. “It keeps people from dying. Well,” Greg snorted. “Not forever, but for a time.”

“Greg, what’s going on?”

“Come now, Nicky, even you must admit that all good things require sacrifices.” The eerie chants and music echoed from the record player, surrounding Nick, pounding to the beat of his heart.

“What are you talking about?”

“In order for this conjuration to work, Nicky, you must sacrifice someone. Sacrificing someone allows you to take the years they have left in this world.” Nick wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and tried to stay calm. Mr. Marshall entered the room, carrying a candle and chanting along with the record. “But in order for this to work properly, the ‘someone’ who is to be sacrificed needs to believe. Tell my Nicky, do you believe?”

“N-no,” Nick stammered.

“Oh, I think you do.”

‘ _No, I don’t, I don’t believe, I don’t believe, I don’t believe,’_ he kept thinking as he began to hyperventilate. He stared at Greg and saw a soul that wasn’t Greg looking out from behind Greg’s eyes. He was finding it harder to breathe. He tried to focus on the memory of Sara’s voice telling him it wasn’t real. Greg grinned sadistically before slamming the door shut, leaving Nick alone with Mr. Marshall. Nick looked into Mr. Marshall’s eyes then looked into one of the surrounding mirrors. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he saw the reflection what could only be the servant man that was killed so many decades ago. The servant’s stare bore into his eyes. The last thing Nick could coherently think what _‘They got him too…’_

\- - -

Greg stood on the front porch of the Devereaux Estate with a smoke in his hand. He grinned as he felt the older man come up behind him and wrap his arms around Greg’s waist. “I was kind of worried about that one,” the older man’s Southern accent said.

“Nah, he was easier than the Californian,” Greg smiled. “He was from the South, he was born to believe.” Greg took a final drag of the cigarette before putting it out with his shoe. The two stood on the porch and watched as an ambulance approached.

“Where is he?” one of the ambulance attendants asked.

“He’s in the living room,” Greg said, concern filling his voice. “I don’t know what happened, we were just sitting there talking and, well, it was sudden.” The attendant nodded and they went into the house with a stretcher. A second set of ambulance attendants approached. “Mrs. Marshall is on the next floor up, the second room to the right,” Greg instructed and they too entered the house with a stretcher.

“Greg, what’s going on?” Brass asked as he exited a police cruiser. “I heard it on the scanner.”

“He had a stroke, as far as I can tell,” Greg explained to the police Captain. Brass nodded and looked to the man still behind Greg.

“You okay Nick?” Greg turned to look behind him.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” the man replied. Brass nodded and returned to his car. As he pulled away the ambulance attendants exited the house with the stretchers containing Mr. and Mrs. Marshall. Once they were gone Greg lead Nick back into the house. They stopped in front of a large mirror that now hung in the foyer and gazed at their reflections. “This is certainly something we’ve never done before,” Nick said as he wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist.

“Times change, so must we,” Greg replied with a grin.

“But why them? Why these two?”

“This one was so willing to believe,” Greg said, gesturing to his own reflection. “Despite how wary he was. The other was convenient.”

“Less questions,” Nick nodded. Greg lit another cigarette and Nick kissed his neck. “Guess I’ll be having to take a time off work to do some studying if I want to keep this career going.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.” The two looked at their reflections once more and shared a knowing smile.

\- 30 -

THE END


End file.
